


Please Sherlock

by socksforlife



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Greg is Sweet, High Sherlock, Holmes Brothers, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Teen Sherlock, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 03:50:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5770138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/socksforlife/pseuds/socksforlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of the first time Mycroft finds his brother high, he doesn't know what to do and calls his boyfriend for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Sherlock

Dim, dingy, filthy and smelling of sweat. Mycroft’s nose wrinkled at his surroundings, but he had to endure it, his brother had fallen and he had to look after him. He slowly made his way through the derelict house, avoiding various half conscious bodies strewn about on the floors. He mounted the stairs, his eyes searching for the familiar shape of his brother’s body. The sound of his pitiful moaning was what alerted Mycroft to his presence. He whirled around to find his brother sprawled out on a dirty white mattress.

  
At the sight, Mycroft’s heart plummeted. Sherlock laid with his hair a mess of knotty curls about his head, sheen of sweat coating his body, his once pristine white shirt sticking uncomfortably to his body. Mycroft’s eyes closed of their own freewill, a long sigh escaping through his lips. Mycroft kneeled on the grimy floor and stroked a hand over Sherlock’s hair, making him aware of his presence.

  
Sherlock’s head lolled away from Mycroft’s hand, his arm swatting at it. “No” he moaned, the vowel extending longer than necessary. The warmth of his brother’s body under Mycroft’s hands worried him. Mycroft didn’t know what to do, he felt like his brain was crashing to a halt. He knew he should be able to care for his little brother, but he had no idea what to do, he was just a scared 19 year old. With no plan he hitched his trousers up and settle next to Sherlock.

  
The air was thick and warm and Mycroft felt sweat begin to bead at the base of his throat beneath his crisp white collar. He was dressed in his grey suit and light blue tie, sticking out like a sore thumb in the run down building. He removed his tie and jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, the stuffy atmosphere of the room becoming too much and clouding his brain further.

  
Mycroft took in his surrounding and thought about when it had become like this, when had his carefree little brother slipped from his life and turned into a strung out teenager with sallow skin and greasy hair. Sherlock had always been a happy child, an imagination so expressive he could spend an entire day in another world. He loved Mycroft and would always sneak into his room when he had a rough night, never their parent’s. Mycroft’s eyes watered at the memories, his hand stroking along Sherlock’s side, feeling his ribs beneath his palm. A tear slipped from Sherlock’s eye as he shook violently with the draft seeping in and chilling the hard concrete floor below him.

  
Mycroft couldn’t do this on his own, he couldn’t be a parent, he didn’t know what it was he was meant to be doing, but the shock and panic had left him clueless as to how to respond. He felt helpless and needed someone else. With shaking hands Mycroft pulled his phone from his pocket and called the only person he could think to help him, Gregory. His voice shook as he told Gregory their location, much to his embarrassment, but it just made the seriousness of the situation more apparent to Greg and he promised to be there as soon as he could.

  
“Mycroft!” Greg’s voiced bounced off the dirty walls around him, Sherlock mumbled something incoherent and weekly extended his arm, as it to grab to intruder of his little bubble. The slap of Greg’s shoes against the concrete was obscenely loud as he rushed through the corridors looking for them. Mycroft could feel the noise of the denim rubbing together as he walked, grating his brain. He wanted to someone to tell him what he was meant to do, felt he had to or else he would collapse into a quivering pile of stress, he didn’t have the ability in that moment to be the cool and collected Mycroft everyone had come to know.

  
“Here,” he croaked quietly, unsure if Greg could even hear him. Greg’s worried face appeared around the corner, his expression falling into panic as he saw Sherlock on the ground. Mycroft hadn't given him any details about what to expect, hadn’t been able to, but now that he was there he could understand why he was needed. Greg dropped to his knees in front of the two Holmes boys, wrapping his arms around the older, but keeping his eyes trained on the younger.

  
“I just didn’t want to be alone, I don’t know what to do,” Mycroft whimpered, his body shaking minutely in Greg’s arms. Greg shushed him and let him know that he understood, there was no need to justify it.

  
Greg freed his arms from Mycroft’s grip and took out his phone. They were just kids, or at least Greg felt like one in that moment and Mycroft seemed unable to think clearly, so Greg called for an ambulance.

  
Greg rearranged them so they were sat more comfortably. He took a position behind Mycroft and dragged the taller boy into his lap and wrapped his arms around his middle. Mycroft’s breathing was uneven, it rushed from him but he’d barely breathe in again. He was rigid as a board and Greg tried his best to calm him. He smoothed his hands along Mycroft’s chest, trying to sooth the tension built up there. Mycroft’s head fell back against Greg’s shoulder and with that thud came the breaking of what little willpower Mycroft was holding himself together with. All his breath whooshed from his body in a panicked sob and his eyes flooded with tear. His body shook and his nose ran and he knew he was making a fool of himself in front of Gregory but he couldn’t stop. He turned in Greg’s arms and buried his face into his shoulder. Greg welcomed him with a watery smile, which Mycroft didn’t see and wrapped his arms tighter around his boyfriend, letting his fingers run through Mycroft’s hair in slow gentle strokes.

  
The sound of the ambulance arriving broke Mycroft from his panicked state, his head shot up and he glanced at Greg with shame filled eyes. Greg just gave him a comforting smile and placed his hand on Mycroft’s cheek and let his thumb wipe the tears from under his eyes.

  
The paramedics arrived and it was blur of florescent yellow and flashing blue until it all ground to a halt in a pristine white room. Sherlock lay on a bed, not moving, a sickly pale colour. He felt Greg’s hand slip into his and was brought back to reality, his baby brother had. He couldn’t finish the sentence in his mind, he was still too scared. He had failed to be there for his brother, to protect him from the evils in the world, to stop this before it even happened. Tears formed in Mycroft’s eyes again, but this time they fell slowly and silently, he couldn’t make any noise, he felt empty inside.

  
Greg squeezed his hand and placed a gentle kiss on his check, “he’ll be okay,” he whispered. Mycroft nodded, not trusting his voice would work.

  
Time passed without the two boys paying attention to it, until Sherlock slowly started to move, then time seemed to slow down and it felt like a lifetime before his eyes opened. He squinted at the harsh lights above him, letting out a feeble groan. Mycroft’s body shook with shock and relief and he fell forwards over his little brother, wrapping his arms carefully around his shoulders. He cried into Sherlock’s shoulder, sobbing out “I’m so sorry” again and again. Sherlock’s eyes filled with tears also and he too started crying. Greg watched the two brothers with love in his eyes; he smiled sadly and placed a gentle hand on Mycroft’s back, rubbing it on soothing circles.

  
“Please don’t do that again Sherlock, let me know if something’s wrong and I can help you fight it.” Mycroft croaked into the boy’s shoulder.  
Sherlock looked ashamed, “I can’t promise that,” he mumbled. Mycroft shook his head against Sherlock’s boney shoulder.

  
“At least let me know what you’ve taken, so I can have all the information and know how to act, please do that for me Sherlock.” Mycroft begged, his face never leaving his brother’s body. Sherlock nodded minutely, his hand rising to clutch at the back of Mycroft’s head.  
“I’ll make a list” he whispered, letting his fingers curl into his brother’s hair and ground him into reality.


End file.
